History is not normally a speedy process in the Philippines, but last week
witnessed a record of sorts. The Philippine House of Representatives convened
to consider an impeachment motion against President Joseph Estrada. Assembled
in a '70s-era complex far from downtown Manila, House Speaker Manuel Villar
read a prayer, customary in the predominantly Catholic country, and then
a report on the motion. With a bang of his gavel, Villar passed the motion
without debateand in the space of just three minutes, Estrada became
the first President of the Philippines to be impeached.

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The
move thrust the nation into the kind of chaotic political skimirshes that
characterize Asia's wildest democracy. Estrada, accused of accepting $8
million in under-the-desk proceeds from an illegal gambling operation, responded
by saying he would gladly face a trial in the Senate. "I did not become
President to rake up money," said the former film actor, sounding almost
Nixonian. Estrada's foes, meanwhile, gleefully promised a Senate trial that
would exceed Bill Clinton's impeachment ordeal. Rumbles of a possible coup
d'état, as customary in the Philippines as prayers, are growing louder,
and there is talk of a tit-for-tat move to impeach the country's Vice President
Gloria Macapagal Arroyo. Meanwhile, insiders report that the President's
93-year-old mother has become involved in the controversy, begging her son
to "reform his ways."

Which means that the Estrada imbroglio is generating ever-mounting BTUs
of political heat but not a whole lot of light. Two weeks ago, the contest
was centered on public support as measured by the number of Filipinos each
side could bring onto Manila's streets. Estrada won that round by pulling
about 1 million people to a support rally, compared with a maximum of 80,000
gathered by his opposition, led by former President Corazon Aquino, Catholic
prelate Jaime Cardinal Sin and Manila's business Elite. Now, the struggle
has moved to a Philippine upper house seemingly unequipped to handle such
a task. Senators are still bickering over such elemental issues as how many
votes are needed for convictiona two-thirds vote is required, but
there is confusion since one Senator died in office and another, Arroyo,
has since become Vice Presidentand whether the judgment would be based
on guilt beyond a reasonable doubt or simply a preponderance of guilt. The
Senate will have to organize fast: the trial begins Dec. 4.

Estrada's spin doctors are in overdrive. When the House impeached Estrada
on several counts of bribery, graft, betrayal of public trust and culpable
violation of the constitution, deputy presidential press secretary Mike
Toledo reacted as if the President had achieved his biggest triumph. "We
have just seen democracy in action," Toledo exulted. "This development is
most welcome and let us wait for the impeachment trial to begin." Philippine
Ambassador to the U.S. Ernesto Maceda was similarly upbeat: "I am quite
sure you will see a new and reformed President if and when he is acquitted."

Estrada himself is suffering, however. He hit an emotional low two weeks
ago and turned for consolation to Eduardo "Danding" Cojuangco, a political
mentor, former Ferdinand Marcos crony and chairman of giant San Miguel Corp.
According to a Malacañang source, Estrada, tears welling in his eyes,
told Cojuangco he was pagod na, or tired, and seemed ready to give up the
fight. Cojuangco told him to hang tough.

That might prove to be good advice: Estrada still appears to have enough
support in the Senate to survive. The President needs the votes of at least
eight of the 22 Senators. According to Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago,
the President can count on nine, including hers. Loyalties could crumble,
though, depending on the trial process, public reaction to it and behind-the-scenes
arm-twisting. The trial itself promises to be a blockbuster. To investigate
allegations that Estrada received illegal gambling money, Senators will
invite Luis "Chavit" Singson, the whistle-blowing governor of Ilocos Sur
province who started off the scandal. But as in the Clinton trial, the scandal
could quickly spread. If the President's financial improprieties are fully
probed, his six mistresses might be called to account for their glamorous
residences and other baubles. More personal revelations may be exposed.
"This promises to be pornographic, like Clinton's impeachment," says one
excited congressman. "Except in this case, there are at least six Monicas."
Predicts Senator Rodolfo Biazon: "This will be the mother of all hearings."

The mother of the moment is the elderly but lucent Mary Ejercito, who has
never been prominent on the public stage. (The President's real name is
Jose Marcelo Ejercito; Joseph Estrada is his stage name.) Mrs. Ejercito
was shielded from the news of the scandal by her in-house nurse, who kept
the television under lock and key. Somehow Mrs. Ejercito got wind of the
impeachment, and met with the President, telling him, "It's more than high
time you change. The people are angry now." That has led to a new tale in
Manila's gossip circles about Mrs. Ejercito pleading with Cardinal Sin to
be gentle with her son. "Please have mercy on him," she says. "Not only
hasn't he finished school, but he may now not finish his term." But Manila
may find it difficult to take refuge in political humor much longer, as
each day things get further out of control.